Otherside
by Arlia
Summary: Nothing very spectacular (or very good for that matter) Aragorn crosses over into death, and finds a dangerous plot unfolds but he can't stop it. (Please, no flames, I said nothing good, already, I know)
1. Otherside

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Otherside

A Tolkien Fan Fiction By

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Raven Usher

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A/N: I thought about this lying awake in bed that night (clearly the presence of the Halls of Mandos eluded me in thought - as I decided to dedicate one of my early fics to it). But I'm starting to see a pattern in my writing which is: big tragic death scenes. I was also in the mood for something EXTREMELY darker than what I usually write. Ah, don't expect very frequent updates, it's kinda' a side project. Ah, and I'm afraid they'll be short as well… as I am lazy, and… it IS a side project. Ok, I'm just a bum. We'll put it that way. So here I am with "Otherside" which reminds me…

DISCLAIMER: I didn't even come up with the TITLE (how lazy am I?) I actually named it for one of my favorite Chili Peppers song. Also, I do not own ANY of the characters that follow, they come from the rich imagination of the great J.R.R Tolkien. (WE ARE NOT WORTHY). I think that's about it. That'll be enough rambling… for now.

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Aragorn bent low to the ground, his eyes closed and his mind securely intent on listening for any disturbances. He exhaled slowly, his breath clear on the cold December air. The man's sharp eyes slowly opened, surveying the land in front of him. The forest outside of Rivendell was quiet. Far too quiet. Not a bird calling. Not the rushing of water. Nothing. Needless to say, this rendered the Ranger extremely uneasy. 

He stood up slowly, careful to level his weight so that minimal sound was made when he moved. Something was not right at all with his surroundings. Aragorn loosened his sword in its scabbard; the man was brave, but he was no fool. Resolving that returning to Rivendell and conversing with Elrond was the best course of action at the moment, he began to make his way back to the Elven haven just snowflakes began to fall from the overcast sky.

The Ranger wrapped his cloak tightly around him as the winds began to pick up. Aragorn bowed his head as it became more violent, his dark hair whipping about his face. The man tried to keep his senses alert as possible between the snow and wind, but what he heard next required no heightened senses. There was a distinct growl from not that far behind him.

_It sounds like there's only one_, he thought to himself, keeping a steady pace so that whatever was following him wouldn't detect a difference. He could hear the creature's footfalls quicken, causing Aragorn to do the same. He was at least a day from Rivendell, his stalker would overtake him before then. Knowing he had only one choice, he unsheathed his sword and spun around, planting his feet in a defensive stance.

But there was nothing there. _What kind of ill trick is being played_, he thought, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the forest around him. A second later the Ranger was tackled to the ground as a large body hurtled onto his shoulders from behind. Aragorn cried out in pain and frustration as he felt his left shoulder blade crack horribly. He gasped out as his attacker put more weight on him, making it near impossible to breathe. The Ranger got a firmer grasp on his sword and swung it around to find a mark.

It reared back and let out a howl of agony, giving Aragorn enough time to scramble out from underneath what he found to be a warg. The warg, now incredibly aggravated by its wound, growled threateningly and charged towards the man at full speed. It leapt up on its hand legs, but Aragorn was ready, he drove the sword through its throat and stepped aside to watch it fall. The warg lay on the forest floor, writhing in pain. 

The man retrieved his sword and stabbed the warg one last time; it whimpered pitifully, then was silent. He bent down briefly to clean the blood from his sword on the grass, the snow now biting at his bare skin. 

"Wargs never travel alone," he muttered to himself. The day was waning - which he needed now, more than ever. It felt like sand slipping through his fingers all the more rapidly. A shudder raced down his spine at the sound of several more warg howls lacing the air. Aragorn sheathed his sword and continued towards Rivendell.

But the Ranger's situation didn't improve. Those first two snowflakes had evolved into a full blown storm. It was becoming increasingly harder and harder to keep at his steady pace. In a few hours it had become so dark and cold that he had completely lost his bearings. He stumbled into a clearing in the forest, hearing something moving on the snow's surface. On the opposite side of the clearing he saw a tall, cloaked figure step forward. 

Aragorn held his hand up to guard his eyes from the merciless wind and snow. "Who's there!" he demanded harshly. 

The cloaked figure continued moving towards him steadily. It's breaths coming in rasping, and its body remaining in shadow. The man drew his sword, prepared to attack at a moments notice. The figure apparently began to speak, but its words were not Elvish or common, nor any other tongue that belonged to Middle-Earth. It sounded though as many chill voices spoke at once, enrapturing Aragorn as he tried to concentrate on keeping his focus.

His hands felt numb around the sword's hilt and his shoulder felt oddly heavy. He was vaguely aware of the figure coming closer, a skeletal like hand sweeping forward. The Ranger's legs buckled and he went to his knees, the snow about him no longer seeming as bleak..

_"It's time to let go, Aragorn…" the voices cooed. "Isn't it painless?"_

"Yes…" Aragorn murmured, it was becoming more difficult to hold of the desire to completely subdue to the spell this figure was weaving. Finally something snapped, it felt like blanket had been lifted off him. With a loud yell he gripped his sword and swung at the figure through the middle, which dissipated into a mist.

Aragorn whipped around on his heel and began running in the opposite direction. There was no point in staying there, it could come back for all he knew. Whatever it was, it had been by no means friendly. He ran for maybe an hour before tripping over a rock and falling headlong into a stream that he had failed to see through the raging storm. He crawled out of the stream, shaking violently from the freezing water.

He pushed his drenched hair out of his eyes only to realize he had forgotten something in his flight from the clearing. The wargs were still tracking him. He could see them now, a pack of maybe seven wargs stepping out from the trees, their hungry growls becoming more and more distinct. Moving slowly he removed his sword from the scabbard, ready to give the wargs a bitter fight. Climbing to his feet he gave the sword a good practice swing then grinned roguishly as the first warg advanced on him. 

"Elendil! Elendil!" he roared, leaping over the stream and driving the channels of the blade through the warg's heart. If only it all could have been that easy. Two came at him at the same time. The first clawed at his arm, causing him to instinctively slice into its side. This gave second assailant a chance to sink it's teeth into Aragorn's leg. 

The fight went rapidly downhill from there, making it all swiftly becoming a blur. Blood seemed to cover every inch of the man's body as he hewed the head off one of his last adversaries. He heaved a sigh, trying to catch his breath. The only thing making him uneasy now was that he couldn't see the seventh warg. Aragorn slumped against a tree, trying to use his sword to support him, when he heard the rasping breathing and the numerous, chilling voices.

_"Let go, Aragorn… It's painless."_

The sword fell from his hands and the world seemed to fade out as the snow-laden ground rushed up to catch him. Aragorn's eyes ultimately closed as the familiar skeleton-like hand passed over his gaze.


	2. Fate

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A/N: Thank you, dshael for liking my story! Actually, as it turns out this story just got pushed a little higher up on the priorities list. (I had to put my "Pirates" fic on hold because it just wasn't coming to me like it had been.)

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-Fate-

"It hath often been said that it is not death but dying that is terribly."

-Henry Felding

Arwen sat on a chair in her chambers overlooking the forest below, hoping that any moment now she would see Aragorn's figure trek up to the Last Homely House. It had been several days now since anyone had heard anything from the Ranger, though, she was most thankful that once the storm had started Lord Elrond had sent someone to search for the man. Arwen kept trying to tell herself that he was going to come bounding into Rivendell at any moment with just another story to tell. But she simply couldn't make herself believe that. The foreboding premonition that Aragorn would not return seemed close to becoming true.

"Please return safely," she whispered, closing her eyes.

As if in response to what she had said, the sound of several voices met her ears coming from the main entrance below her. She couldn't make out much of what was being said, one of the voices being Elrond, she could only have high hopes. Rushing out of the room she hurried to the main entrance, eager to prove that foreboding feeling wrong.

"Bring him to my chambers immediately, see that his wounds are cleaned."

"My lord…"

"_Immediately_."

"Yes, my lord."

Arwen slowly turned the corner, a knot in her stomach. All she could see was Elrond with his head bowed at the sound of receding footsteps. The Elf felt tears threaten to press up against her eyes as she moved closer and saw the grim expression on her father's face. He looked up suddenly, recognizing Arwen's presence.

"Father…" she started in a cracked voice. "It's not…"

"I'm sorry," he said softly.

Everything was spiraling downward far too fast for her. "Aragorn… he'll…"

"I'll do what I can… but…" Elrond raised his eyes to look into his daughter's and found himself unable to continue. "Do not lose faith," he offered, but his words sounded hollow. Not able to endure Arwen's gaze any longer he turned away and followed after the others.

The Elf stepped into the room to see a healer tending to Aragorn's wounds and the one he had sent, Halmear, to find him. Elrond stood on the threshold of the room, at a loss for speech. Halmear looked at the Elf-lord and shook his head regretfully.

"Forgive me, Lord Elrond, but I'm afraid not even _your_ skills are enough to save him." When Elrond could only be silent, Halmear continued. "You can't bring back the dead."

"He's not dead," Elrond murmured at length. "Not…not yet."

The healer looked up from her work and sighed. "Halmear is right… There's hardly any life left in him. There's nothing left that we can do."

"I don't understand…" the Elf whispered, then looked to Halmear. "What happened? Can you tell me anything of what ill fate befell him?"

The other Elf inhaled before speaking, not wanting to recall what he had seen. "I found him lying among some warg bodies… He was in no better state than you see here, running a fever… barely breathing." He tried to offer a forced smile. "He fought bravely, my lord."

Elrond felt a weight on his heart become steadily heavier and heavier as he tried to comprehend. "How much longer before…?"

"Not much longer," replied the female Elf.

"Halmear, would you be so kind as to bring my daughter to me, I wish to speak with her," he said. Requiring no second bidding, Halmear bowed and ducked out of the room. When he returned with Arwen, Elrond was already waiting outside the room, the grave air etched onto his face.

"Father, tell me it's not true…" When no reply came she hid her face in her hands, tears pouring from her eyes. He embraced her, but this made her no less ill at ease. 

"Arwen, you knew as well as I do… He is mortal, he was doomed to die."

"Not like this… not so soon," she blurted out through her tears.

"It's always too soon." Arwen took a breath, trying to level herself, but it was evident it did little to no good. Glancing into the room she took a step towards it, but Elrond placed a restraining hand on her shoulder. "Please, do not cause yourself more grief."

Arwen disregarded him and continued into the room which was very dim in the twilight as only a single candle in the room was present for giving off any light. She moved towards the bed, careful not to make too much sound, but her heart simply gave way at the sight. She went to her knees beside the bed, her shoulders shaking with soft sobs. 

"Estel… Come back Estel," she pleaded in a soft voice. Arwen bowed her head, wrapping her hand around his.

The healer looked to Elrond who stood in the doorway, silently, he bade the healer to take leave. The healer nodded in understanding, following the Elf-lord out of the room. 

"Arwen…"

The Elf-maiden's head jolted upright at the sound of her name being spoken, a smile spreading on her lips at realizing it was Aragorn that spoke it. "Don't leave me, Estel. I can't lose you," she sobbed, tears springing from her eyes in a torrent.

He squeezed her hand weakly. "I'd never leave you." He raised his free hand to wipe a tear from Arwen's cheek, but this only seemed to ensue more tears. "Namárie," Aragorn said, then his shallow breaths came to a stop. 

"Estel…" she murmured, still clasping his hand. "Estel! No!" Arwen threw her arms around his still form, his eyes glazed over in death. 

(~*~)

Aragorn was confused. He knew where he was, yet, it was unlike anywhere he had been before. The trees were a rippling shadow, the ground below him was churned and rocky. The sky above looked as though it had been spattered with dirt and blood. 

"Where am I?" he asked himself. The last thing he could remember was… that he had died. "What's going on?" he thought out loud.

"You're in the world of the living, though, it's not quite the same for us."

Aragorn spun around to see a young woman with flaming red hair, and a red cloak wrapped around her shoulders to match. "I don't understand… Who are you? What's going on?" he demanded, too confused to ask only one question at once.

"I am Fate," the young woman said.

"What?"

"I know… I take many forms… But the image is always different in the eye of the beholder, for instance, Life," she placed an elegant, indicating hand across her chest. "Death…" In the blink of an eye she had changed into the tall, cloaked figure he had seen not long before. "Even Love." Here she became a mirror-image of Arwen, making Aragorn's heart sink at the thought of her. Fate turned back to young woman with red hair.

"I don't understand… Why am I here?"

Fate shrugged. "To tell you the truth, I don't think you're supposed to be here."

"What!?" Aragorn exclaimed, taking a threatening step towards her. 

She held up her hands defensively. "It wasn't my fault! Something that is out of my control is taking place in Rivendell… Something catastrophic."

"Catastrophic… then Arwen…"

"Is in danger, yes, but I tell you, there's nothing that can be done…"

"I don't understand!" Aragorn exclaimed, throwing up his hands. "You're Fate, yet you can do nothing!?"

"Not at the moment… It's rather complicated." The man groaned in exasperation. After some silence, Fate took a glance around the clearing. "Do you recognize this place, Aragorn?"

He nodded silently, his eyes fixated on the ground. "Yes… This is where I first saw Arwen… But it's changed…"

"That's because when we're in the realm of the living, we can't see it as they do. For us, the living is something of an indistinguishable memory," Fate explained.

When Aragorn raised his eyes to look at her they were no longer standing in the clearing, instead, they were standing in Elrond's chambers, where Arwen still wept over his body. He felt a desire to cry out to her, wanting to move closer to her, but Fate placed a slender, yet potent hand on his shoulder. 

"She knows you're here," Fate said with a reassuring smile. "See how much clearer her image is? See how hazy everything else is?"

Aragorn nodded, incapable to pull his gaze away from Arwen, tears of his own pressing at his eyes. 

"She can feel your presence. Trust that."

The man watched Elrond enter the room, then halt at the sight of Arwen clinging to the form of his foster son. He gently walked towards him, then closed his unseeing eyes. Aragorn walked to Arwen, in spite of Fate's demands. He did not know what he could do to comfort her, and felt the pain in his heart become all the more severe.

"I miss her," he whispered in agony. 

"It's time for us to leave, we can't stay in their realm for too long," Fate stated, turning him away from the Elves. Everything around them went black, and Aragorn felt as though somebody had dumped a bucket of ice cold water over his head, though there was no water. When the darkness lifted, Aragorn found himself standing at the top of a tower that seemed to overlook all of Middle-Earth.

Fate stood alongside him, following his gaze. "Welcome to the other side, Aragorn."


	3. Unveiling

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A/N: Thank you dshael, Gionareth, crazyLOTRfan, and grumpy for reviewing and giving me reason to keep writing this. Sorry for taking so long to update.

-Unveiling-

The dark figure trudged through the storm towards the last homely house, a vague grin passing on its pale face. It was exhilarating to be back in the realm of the living. Already it had retrieved his first victim, the spirit from the man had been strong. There was something distinctly different about his race. But more pressing on his mind was the clear presence of Elves from not far off. The spirits of Elves were harder to ensnare, but it was worth it once he had it.

(~*~)

"I don't understand what's going on!" Aragorn cried as he followed Fate through the tower that he supposed was some sort of after life. "You said I wasn't supposed be here… That something out of your control is happening. You said Arwen may be in danger!"

"Yes, yes, and yes," Fate replied shortly. "Aragorn… I can't give you any _definite _answers."

"Then tell me what you can," he pleaded. She stopped and turned to face him, her eyes grave.

"If what I think has happened… A soul has found a way to cross over into Life. Until they have fully become a part of Life again, they have the ability to exist in both realms…" she finished, her face pale and it seemed as though she did not care much to continue.

The man was watching the floor, his voice catching, afraid to know the answer. "And how do they… sustain this ability to exist in Life?"

Fate met his gaze, regret and sorrow in her eyes. "By taking the lives of the living… That's what happened to you."

His dark gaze was filled with realization. "That's what I saw in the clearing… what forced me back to the wargs…" Suddenly he looked down at his own hand, his memory flashing to what had crossed his eyes before he lost consciousness in the snow. "And it was headed for Rivendell… I have to stop it!"

"There is nothing that you can do…"

"Arwen's in Rivendell! I have to stop it!" he cried desperately. He searched the young woman's face, though she would not return his gaze, he could tell the look about her was sympathetic. "Please, there must be something I can do… Anything?"

"If you can identify the spirit, when it comes back to the realm of the Dead… You can send it to a deeper place of Death, where there is no way back into Life…" she replied at length.

"And what happens when he doesn't need to retreat to Death?" Aragorn asked apprehensively.

"I don't know… This is the first time anyone has ever been successful in crossing over." She paused and drew a breath, and he could see that she was shaking from the novelty of the situation. "I must leave you now, but not for too long." Fate was about to take another corridor out of that particular hall, but Aragorn grabbed her hand.

"Wait, one more question… Is there… Is there any way for me to… live again?" he asked, his voice cracking.

"I have to go, Aragorn…" she said slowly, than turned away, leaving him alone in the hall, the torch nearby on the wall flickering and casting a somewhat eerie and sorrowful light upon his face.

(~*~)

The snow was falling gently from the gray sky overhead, the Elf's raven like hair catching the flakes, making them radiate brilliantly in the dim late afternoon light. The surrounding trees seemed to bend away from the Elf-maiden's tears, as if they did not wish to disturb her. Arwen sniffed softly at the sound of approaching footsteps. Assuming that her father had sent someone to bring her in from the cold she snapped bitterly at them.

"Leave me alone! Can't you see that I'd rather not to speak to anyone right now!?"

"Forgive me," said a smooth voice that she did not recognize. "I heard a sound, and wasn't quite sure what it was."

Arwen turned around to see a tall, thin man standing on the edge of the clearing. "My apologies, milord, I did not mean to speak so harshly. I've just been…" she trailed off, turning away and subsided back to her tears.

The man came closer to her, and now that she could see him more properly she realized that he was in fact in Elf, but not from Imladris. He surveyed her with dark eyes that looked through a veil of auburn hair, his brow furrowed. "Why should a maiden as beautiful as yourself be so plagued with such mourning?"

"Forgive me, sir, but I don't know you and it's… something I rather not speak of," she replied softly.

"I understand," he said. "But if I may ask, am I far from Imladris?"

"No," Arwen replied shortly, shaking her head. "Hardly half a league from here." She turned away from him again. As soon as she had turned away, he felt himself falter back to the cloaked figure, losing a grip on his physical form. He groaned slightly, feeling himself begin to slip back into the world of the Dead. The Elf-maiden could live a little longer.

(~*~)

Aragorn paced the hallway of the tower anxiously, waiting for Fate to return, hoping that he could think of something he could do. But he couldn't ignore the growing pit in his stomach, he was afraid for Arwen, afraid of what may happen to her. What probably would happen to her. He felt helpless, for the first time Aragorn felt completely at a loss. 

At some point during his pacing he was stopped when he walked into another soul that had probably been aimlessly drifting about the tower. He muttered in apology to whomever he may have run into, but hadn't been quite expecting the person to reply.

"I'm sorry, sir, I wasn't watching where I was going."

Aragorn looked up to find himself looking at a tall, thin Elf with dark eyes and auburn hair. Something about him made Aragorn feel as though he'd been better off if he hadn't bumped into the Elf. "It's quite alright," he murmured dismissively. 

The Elf, whom was slightly taller than Aragorn, smiled briefly. "New to the Tower, are you?"

"Yes," he retorted, trying to shirk off the Elf who now just felt like uncomfortable company.

"Died young, I see," the Elf continued casually, obviously not to have realized the man really wished him to be gone. 

Aragorn clenched his jaw, trying to control his rising anger. "I don't mean to be rude, but if you could…" he stopped short as he glanced over the Elf a second time, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck prickle as he saw the skeleton-like hand of the other soul. "…please, let me be," he finished more quietly.

"Is something wrong?" asked the Elf in an offhanded tone.

"No…" Aragorn furrowed his brow in deep thought. "Well… No… Do, do I know you?"

"I can't say that I ever knew you in your previous life or mine," the other replied, sighing a little. There was a silence that only lasted a few seconds, but to the spirit of the man, it felt like an age as the uneasy feeling set in quite comfortably on his mind. "Allow me to introduce myself, my name is Harmor."

He paused upon hearing the name, it sounded familiar, as though he had heard it before. It was slowly coming back to him, the stories he had heard pertaining to the name had not been positive ones, they revolved around dark lore that was not for those of the faint of heart. "I'm Strider," he replied shortly.

The Elf laughed, there was an uncanny quality to the sound as it ricocheted off the walls. "This is not your true name, surely? You were not very trusting in life, were you? There's no harm in such trivial things now."

"Aragorn…" he murmured softly. "In life I was called Aragorn." He raised his voice slightly, making it more audible. "But like you said, a name is so trivial now."

(~*~)

Lord Elrond stood over the body of his foster son, the small room devoid of any light but the moonlight that was scattered across the room. Estel's passing had been too short a time ago for Elrond to allow him to be buried. He had been too young for death, even young by the standards of men. Burying Estel felt far too much like forgetting him. A headstone. A distant memory. Not a man. He watched Aragorn's face, hoping against all hope that his eyes would open and it would never had happened. Even the serene look of death felt like a lie to Elrond. Every time he closed his eyes it was all he could think of was Aragorn's final moments. 

_Why did it have to be so painful for you? _he thought. The blood, the wounds, the shallow breathing. Every time the Elf's eyes closed it was like he was reliving it all over again. He turned away, leaving the room for now. A small part of Imladris that few ever walked, it was a place for the dead that had not been gone long enough to be left out of memory so soon.

The warm candlelight that illuminated the main hall of Rivendell washed over Elrond as he came to see an Elf who was not of Imladris looking over the interior as if he were waiting for someone.

"May I help you?" Elrond inquired warily. He was careful to take into account that he carried no weapon and perhaps was a servant of something wicked that did not require him to walk the wilds, which were dangerous in their own rite, with no visible way to protect himself.

The Elf bowed elegantly, his thin frame nearly doubled over. "I am just a traveler passing through, the graciousness of your hospitality would be greatly appreciated."

"What is your name?" the other asked, still in a cautious manner as he spoke. 

"My name is Harmor, I hail from the Golden Wood of Lothlorien," he responded regally.

Elrond surveyed the Elf's garb. He was dressed simply enough, his clothes betraying him for what other's would consider to be a man, a Ranger, not unlike Aragorn. Elrond drew a breath, thinking about the name and careful arranging his next words. "Your name is not unknown to me, though you share it with someone of heinous deeds and similar lineage."

"Ah, yes," replied the Elf a bit slowly. "Protected the walls of Lorien from an onslaught of Orcs."

"Then later exploited its weaknesses to the servants of the Dark Lord," Elrond stated firmly. "But he no longer walks this Middle-Earth."

"Indeed, no," Harmor murmured softly. "Well, if it is not too much trouble I'd really appreciate a bed to sleep in before a couple of nights before continuing my journey."

Elrond sighed, too weary to carry on the conversation as of late. "Of course, I'll have someone direct you to your chambers."

"One last thing, my lord… I saw something as I approached Imladris that unsettled me," the Elf injected before Elrond could turn away. "A maiden, fairer than any I have seen, wept alone, not far from here, I assume this must be her home. What could cause her such immense grief?"

The Elf-lord's expression became even more disheartened. "The maiden you speak of is my daughter, Arwen Undomiel, Evenstar to her people." He paused and cleared his throat, knowing that if he continued completely unchecked he would loose complete composure of himself. "And the grief of which you speak… someone she cared for very deeply past out of life not to days ago."

A light of settled realization passed onto Harmor's eyes for a moment, but was gone before Elrond could truly identify the expression. The Elf's dark eyes turned somber, though it did not seem genuine in the slightest. "I'm sorry for that…"

"Yes… so am I," he whispered, though he spoke to himself. He looked back at Harmor, his expression grave but somehow established in his words. "The lives of our kin is long lasting, we must endure the regrettable along with the good."

  



End file.
